


Decadence

by unmeiboy



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Kis-My-Ft2 (Band), NewS (Band), Yamapi - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM, Bloodplay, Chains, Champagne, Collars, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unmeiboy/pseuds/unmeiboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamapi goes to a fetish club he heard about years ago from another NEWS member; finds entirely different people there. Kisumai also shows up, some members new to the place, others not. Kink happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decadence

It's the first time Yamapi comes to the club, and what meets his eyes doesn't exactly surprise him. He knew what to expect, knew about it since years back – one of the NEWS members used to go. He doubts he will find him there tonight, though.

People are dressed up along the lines of the dress code; dark, or strong colors, revealing or entirely covered, but it all fits together and he's glad he doesn't seem to stand out. He chose semi-tight pants in leather imitation, a vest with straps in the front, and a dark cap that covers his eyes unless he deliberately looks directly at people, or looks at them from above. From what he had heard during drinking sessions with group members back then, there wouldn't be any problems even if someone recognized him; apparently the community keeps quiet about identities. And what he sees when he enters makes him believe it entirely.

Even ignoring the pole dancers on stage, there's something about the entirely place that just screams kinky at him. Then again, it is a fetish club, and even if he hadn't known before he decided to go, he would have figured it out immediately. There's people in various stages of undressed (although, he remembers one of the rules clearly, “no sex”; they are not undressing here), some in nothing but underwear and leather straps. A woman walks by, and he can't help but stare when he realizes that her breasts are completely uncovered, except for the nipples. He needs alcohol for this, he figures, heads for the bar and tries to not look too much at the people around him; he can't help it when they're right next to him as he makes his way through the crowd. A guy with heavier make-up than he's ever seen on anyone walks by him, throws a glance at his face with pale blue lenses, but Yamapi doesn't focus on them; behind him, something else has caught his attention. There's someone on the floor, and he tries to stretch to see why, but the crowd closes behind the man with the lenses, and he continues on towards the bar.

It takes more than ten minutes to get through to the bar counter, and once he gets there he has to lean over it and shout his order to the bartender. He whips out his card to pay, but someone next to him hands him a drink ticket to use instead. At first he wants to refuse, but then he looks twice and realizes that the girl in the tight dress and fluffy wig is not so much a girl. It's Tegoshi, and he's wearing a devilish smile.  
“I never thought I'd see you here,” he says as he takes both of their shot glasses, hands one to Yamapi.  
“Didn't expect you to be here either. I thought he was the only one that used to go?” They clink the glasses before downing them; Yamapi makes a face because it's strong, much stronger than he had assumed.  
“Oh, he still goes. He's here tonight.” Tegoshi smiles like that again, like he had known that someone else in the agency would show up at some point, but he leaves without another word, only shoves one more drink ticket into Yamapi's hand. Not exactly thinking, he orders a second shot, this time slightly weaker, while he watches Tegoshi's back disappear into the crowd (and that's when he realizes that there was a reason he had seemed a bit taller than usual; stilettos). 

By the time he throws his head back and drinks down the second shot, the alcohol from the first one has already started to run through his body; not enough to feel numb, but not very far from it either. The dance floor starts to look a lot more inviting now, even with all the people that he doesn't really feel a part of. The way back to it is a lot longer than it should be, and being gradually pushed around by the moving crowd has him on the opposite side of where he passed on the way towards the bar. And suddenly there's a hand on his arm, and he turns towards the touch. Someone whose face he can't see hands Yamapi a chain as he tries to pass by, places another item in his other hand before they leave him. The chain is of average size bordering on thin, and the second item is a tiny bit heavier than he would have expected. Black, smooth, leathery against his palm, and he doesn't need to look to know it's a whip. He follows the chain with his eyes, finds that it leads to where he thought it would; to a leather collar wrapped around the neck of a practically naked man on the floor. And when he gets a better look, he freezes for an entirely different reason. Because the man on the floor, right there in front of him, is not just any man. It's Kitayama, at first a little difficult to tell as his hair is disheveled and eyes cast downwards, but it's definitely him. He tries tugging on the chain, and the reaction is immediate. 

Kitayama dares throw a glance upwards, and that's all it takes before he's on all fours within seconds, facing the floor, hair hanging down over his face in wisps of dark brown. He's expecting something, it's obvious and very much so, that he is waiting for it to happen, and Yamapi knows exactly what he wants. He tightens the hold on the chain; pulls on it a little, just to show who's in control, and then he lifts the whip.

-

Only two of the members are not shocked when they enter at the top of stairs that lead down to a dance floor crowded with people, some of them in outfits they had never thought they'd actually see anyone wear. Yokoo and Fujigaya knew what was coming; the other four had no idea, and it looks like at least Senga and Miyata are starting to regret that they chose to tag along. But then again, when Yokoo had said that Kitayama has a secret they would have to see to believe, there was no way they'd be left out on it. So there they are, in clothes that had awoken suspicion in them when Fujigaya picked them out; still, Fujigaya himself is the worst one of them. Glossy pants, an equally glossy police style cap, boots, a medium-long silver necklace and a sleeveless button-up vest, and it turns out he's wearing nothing underneath it as he pops the top buttons and pulls it open. They're all in black, and they're all looking great - Fujigaya is proud when he looks at them, because they almost do look like they belong there. Nikaido wears the tightest pants he's ever gotten into, Senga is in a nearly see-through black tank top that shows off his arms, Miyata looks oddly handsome with the thin eyeliner and the hat he's wearing, and Tamamori's thin, matte glossy three-quarter sleeve shirt is ripped in the back, showing off his muscles with the help of a wide boatneck cut (although he's squirming, complaining that he feels naked). Yokoo is the only one he didn't style; it's not the first time he's coming either, and he's wearing what he knows will make him fit in. The black, slim fit dress shirt looks great on him, with dark metal accessories that shine in the occasional flash of dance floor lights, and Fujigaya especially likes the necklace that rests between his quite visible collarbones.  
“I'm sure you'll find him somewhere over there.” Yokoo gestures towards the general direction of the bar once they've gotten down the stairs, before he sets out in the opposite direction towards a corner that is even darker than the rest of the club, dim green lights and quickly blinking lamps making a contrast to the otherwise slightly warmer lighting.  
“Anyone wanna get drinks?” Fujigaya suggests, and finds the four of them just nodding, eyes wide as they take in their environment. He pulls them along, and to his surprise Nikaido is the one that's the most alert, or maybe curious. Senga is holding on to Nikaido's arm, quite firmly if judging by the way his own arm or wrist isn't moving the slightest. Tamamori and Miyata mostly seem unfocused, Tamamori because he's following the performance going on on the center stage in the middle of the dance floor; Miyata because he's nearly staring his eyes out at everyone around him.

On top of the center stage is now a man with bare chest and clown make-up hiding his facial features. He's fumbling with something in his pockets, and Tamamori is so curious to find out what it is that he walks straight into someone. He intends to apologize immediately, but falls silent when he get a better look. The girl in front of him is in straps and patches of faux leather, nipples barely covered, panties definitely lower than where her pubic hair must be starting (but she's neatly waxed, so he can't tell for sure). And she notices his staring, then how embarrassed he is, but she just laughs and winks at him with an eye framed by huge fake lashes.  
“Don't miss out on my performance,” she says to him, leans a bit closer so that he can hear properly; he pulls back instead, because her breasts come in closer as well, and he figures he does not need them up against his chest. Especially considering the shirt he's wearing is really thin. "I'm sure you'll like it," she adds, then leaves him to look for his companions. Miyata is waiting for him just a couple of meters away, and he learns from him that Fujigaya went ahead to the bar with Nikaido and Senga.

By the time all three of them have drinks in their hands there is flames going through the air above the dance floor; it turns out that the performer Tamamori had been so focused on is a fire-breather, and he's now showing off his skills with short, fast flames, one after another. With every one the hall lights up for a second, and Fujigaya catches Miyata's face on the way through the crowd, Tamamori right behind. Next to himself is Nikaido, who looks much too happy about the place, like it's really exciting. Senga on the other hand appears to be worried if anything, but Nikaido just pats him on the shoulder and tells him to relax and look for Kitayama instead.

Fujigaya knows where Kitayama is, what he will look like, and most likely what he'll be doing too. It's not his thing, not at all, but he's seen it before and knows how much Kitayama enjoys it. He's surprised none of the other members, except Yokoo of course, haven't noticed anything at all yet. But perhaps it is because he knows, that he notices the red marks on his back that sometimes remain, visible while they're changing in the dressing rooms.  
“There,” Nikaido says suddenly, “is that...” Fujigaya follows the direction in which he's pointing, but what catches his eye isn't Kitayama.

“That's... Yamapi...” Tamamori points out from behind them, sips on his drink as he tries to take in what's happening. And they all trust him when it comes to recognizing that specific senpai, that's not why they stay silent, as if wondering. No, through spaces between people in the crowd they can see that he has something in his hand; something dark, most likely black. Then something shimmers in the lights in the roof, and they realize there's a chain in his other hand.  
"I'm going to find Yokoo." Fujigaya breaks the silence, because he now knows what's going on, where the chain leads, and he doesn't need to watch the rest. So he leaves the four younger members there by the steps that lead from the bar down to the dance floor, hopes that they will get the hint, or at least get curious enough to keep watching.

Nikaido hears Senga's breath catching when a body on the floor comes into view, a small circle forming around it and Yamapi as the black item is lifted up. And the he stiffens as well, realizing why Senga had reacted. There on the floor, on hands and knees, is Kitayama, waiting to get struck with the whip in their senpai's hand.

-

The first time the whip comes down it hits too soft to bring out much of a reaction, but that makes him want to do it harder; and Kitayama looks so willing and so completely submissive, not moving his head even a millimeter as he waits. The next whip is better; it makes a slight sound as it hits, and this time Kitayama twitches a little.

But it's so unfamiliar that Yamapi isn't sure what he should or shouldn't do. What if he's actually hurting him, or what if he won't say stop if it becomes too much? He wants to be nice, even though Kitayama doesn't seem to want him to; he squats next to him anyway, takes the chain in the same hand as the one holding the whip and brings the now free hand to the back of Kitayama's head. He ruffles his hair a bit, like one would do to a dog, and when he feels him lean into the touch just the slightest, he somehow knows that he wasn't being too rough. So he stands up again, takes the chain in a firmer grip in one hand again, and when he brings the leather straps of the whip down onto his back again, it makes a sound that he can hear clearly over the bass of the music, even if only because he's standing close. And Kitayama's entire body twitches now, back arching again as he takes a second whip closely followed by another, but he doesn't let out any sounds whatsoever. Neither does he move, he just stays there, lets Yamapi whip his back until red stripes appear, crossing each other over his skin; just waits for him to be finished. That's what makes him stop earlier than he could have; the feeling of using someone is too much in the end, and he squats again, runs a hand through the dark bangs and down the back of his neck, slides down one side of it, but not far enough to reach his collarbone. He's leaning into the touch again, and then Yamapi throws a glance at the very small, not so covering, skin-colored t-back Kitayama is wearing. Despite the vibrant colors of the lights and the shadows cast by people around them, he has no problems seeing what cannot be anything but an erection.

-

The four of them stand still as they watch Yamapi bring down the whip over and over, increasing the strength with each strike, but it looks as though Kitayama isn't doing anything in particular to stop him.  
“He likes that, doesn't he?” Tamamori whispers, and although it's unclear which one of them he's talking about, they all assume it's about Kitayama. “That's the secret, right?” Nikaido nods in silence, remembering the smirk on Yokoo's face when they had been told about it the first time. He has never seen anything like that, except in movies, and even then the one being whipped had never actually _liked_ it, but there is no doubt that Kitayama does. And something about the fact that their Kitayama, usually so strong and in a way a leader to them, loves to be dominated like that is so hot that he finds himself afraid he's actually blushing in what would be a start to obvious arousal.

Next to him, Senga is just sipping apathetically on his drink, refusing to look; to him it's too much, the pain infliction, willing or not. Also much too private for him to watch and feel okay about it. He keeps his eyes down instead, watches the green liquid of his cocktail slowly disappear between the ice cubes as he drinks through the straw, and he focuses on it so much that he doesn't notice the person not so far from them, eyeing him up and down with a smirk.

Miyata, on the other hand, is looking in an entirely different direction. The fire-breather has just finished his show, and people are getting up on the center stage to dance while waiting for the next number on the main stage. It turns out to be acrobatic dancers, not so much different from A.B.C-Z, he thinks. But then he spots her by the edge of the room, by the wall with another girl who seems to be shorter than her; the one that bumped into Tamamori, and he nudges him in the back.  
“Is that her?” He has to repeat the question twice because the music has gone up in volume, but once Tamamori finally hears him and gets what he's pointing at, he nods. That's her.  
“I guess she's performing soon.” Miyata tilts his head, questioning. He hasn't heard what she told Tamamori. “She told me to watch it. That I'd like her performance. So let's go watch it, okay?” Without waiting for an answer he grabs Miyata's wrist and pulls him along, slowly making their way up to the main stage while the floor is vibrating with the bass from the music.  
“Nika,” Senga manages as they're left alone. “Can we go home soon?”  
“Kenpi come on, we just got here.” He puts an arm around his waist, pulls him in closer in an attempt to comfort him. “Let's have another drink, then maybe we'll go. Okay?” His focus is still on Yamapi and Kitayama as he speaks, but he rubs his cheek against Senga's head in a way that he tells himself is entirely platonic. He feels Senga nod, and just when they're about to go back to the bar they see how Yamapi stops whipping, seems to pet Kitayama like he was an animal, before he turns around.

-

“He likes you,” a soft voice says from behind him, and Yamapi looks back over his own shoulder to find a girl with smokey make-up and a very visible cleavage. “He rarely lets men do that to him.” She's looking at Kitayama with a dominant look in her eyes, more dominant than Yamapi himself feels, even with whip and chain in his hands, and he can't help but wonder exactly what she has done to him before, with the way he's cowering down towards the floor. “You should take him back to a VIP room and go all the way. Bet you can pay for it.” He stiffens for a second - she has recognized him, and on top of that, she seems to know more about this side of Kitayama than he does. But then again, Kitayama's secret has never been exposed, so he supposes he's okay. “Go fix a room, I'll keep him occupied.” He wants to ask why, and how, but when he takes a step back and hands her the chain, she just sits down on his back, pulls a little on the collar as she says something to him.

-

Fujigaya is going up a few stairsteps, stretching his neck to look for Yokoo, but as he does, something else catches his eyes. There's someone in a chair, someone that he thinks he recognizes despite the shadows cast on his face. Someone that notices him, gives him a quick wave with a hand and Fujigaya takes it as a suggestion to approach; he has already forgotten about finding Yokoo. Because who he thinks he sees is not at all who he would expect to find at a club like this, yet there he is. Thin, silky fabric in layers hanging from his muscular shoulders, showing off more of his chest than he usually ever does on stage, with a v-drape that goes almost all the way down to his navel. His hair looks a little messier than usual, but it looks great. Not to mention his eyes; they seem to be lined with kohl, and they're almost as dark as the lining. Fujigaya has to tell himself that it's the lighting's fault, because the light is not at all that good, but there's at least no doubt that he's there and that he looks amazing.  
“Massu?” he asks, even though he knows. It's so unexpected.  
“Fujigaya-kun. I didn't know you came here.” He gestures for Fujigaya to sit down next to him; the chair is lower than his own, and Fujigaya finds himself looking up at Massu as he answers.  
“It's just the second time.”  
Massu smiles, a smile much different than the one he usually has while on stage. “Newbie, then.” His face straightens a bit before he continues. “I've been going for years.” He doesn't sound particularly arrogant, but there is still something different to his voice. Something that makes Fujigaya want to hear him speak more, hear him say things that have a lot less to do with the current topic. He tells himself it's because of the alcohol, even though he's only had one cocktail. Why else would he be thinking things like that? He clears his mind, and is just about to ask if he maybe has seen Yokoo, but Massu continues before he has the chance.  
“We were about to have shots,” he says, and for a second Fujigaya wonders who “we” are, because he can't see anyone that looks like they're with Massu, but then a scantily clad woman makes her way over there, balancing three shot glasses on a tray. She gets there, straddles Massu's lap as he takes a shot for himself, then turns to Fujigaya.  
“I was going to have two, but you should take one.” He speaks like before, a different tone in his voice, and it's even more impressive now that he has a close-to-naked woman in his lap. Like it doesn't make a difference if she's there or not. “Go on.”

He takes a shot glass, and watches the two of them throw their heads back as they take theirs; he follows quickly, makes a face at how strong it is, and hears Massu chuckle at his reaction.  
“Strong?” When he opens his eyes he finds that Massu is smirking at him.  
Fujigaya nods. “What is that?”  
“Spirytus base, 65 percents. Like it?”  
“It'll get me drunk, for sure.” Fujigaya isn't sure he likes the change in Massu's eyes when he says that; but he is also pretty sure that within 15 minutes, he'll be fine with whatever change this entire situation takes. The alcohol is burning hot down his throat, and it might be his mind playing tricks after he heard the percentage of the shot, but his head feels lighter already.  
“Hmm, one more?” Massu is smirking, even more when Fujigaya shakes his head. “You can handle it. Or are you that much of a light weight?” He makes it sound like a bad thing; Fujigaya shakes his head again, then agrees to another shot. It takes a little while before the girl comes back with more drinks, and while waiting, Massu grabs him by the arm, pulls him in to speak in his ear.  
“You think you'll be able to handle it?” he asks, and something jumps inside Fujigaya, because he's pretty sure Massu isn't talking about the alcohol.  
“Yeah,” he breathes, turns his own head so that his lips are next to Massu's ear instead; for a second they accidentally brush his skin, and that's when he realizes that he doesn't completely have his body under control anymore. For a moment he thinks Massu is actually going to kiss him, because he lingers, but in the end he just squeezes Fujigaya's arm and lets go.

-

Yamapi doesn't even have to finish his sentence before the man dealing with tickets hands him an old-fashioned key.  
“VIP, one floor down. Rule number two,” he points with a long, dark green nail at the paper next to him on the wall, “is excepted as long as you lock the door.” He is pointing at the one rule Yamapi remembers seeing when entering; “no sex”, complete with silhouettes of a couple in a doggy style position. "If we need to open, though, we will." He figures that the large key is more for decoration than for privacy, and the lock won't be hard to break open if they tried. Doesn't matter much, though, and he just nods a thanks as he takes his card out to pay.

When he comes back to the floor he finds the girl from before still holding his chain while sitting on his back, while another is on all fours in front of him, and something inside Yamapi heats up for a second. Kitayama is his to touch tonight (although "to _use_ " is his first thought), and now there's some chick on the floor that looks like she's kissing him. But at the same time it looks hot, the way Kitayama can't exactly move away from her even if he wanted to, and the way her short skirt rides up as she leans down a little for his face. Her panties are clearly visible, tight and lacy, and Yamapi feels like a bit creepy when he notes that she looks a little swollen underneath them, wonders if she's getting wet too. But then the girl on Kitayama's back rises up, kicks the other girl's thigh lightly, makes her turn around and stand up.  
“Thanks,” he says as he's handed the chain, and the metal is warmer than he had expected it to be. She just winks at him before she leaves, and there he stands, with a kouhai on a chain waiting for the next order.  
“Come,” and he tugs on the chain, makes it rattle just enough that he can almost hear it over the music, and Kitayama stands, but doesn't look up. Like that he follows Yamapi to the stairs, and they go down them to search for the room number that matches the key.

There is a bottle of champagne on the table in the middle of the room, and a leather couch next to the table. The staff have been quick; there's two glasses beside the bottle, even though he never said there were two of them, but he assumes they knew he wouldn't get a VIP room for himself only. For a moment Yamapi thinks about what he should do with it; it is a fairly expensive brand, and it does look very tempting. He throws a glance at Kitayama, who is still keeping his eyes on the floor, waiting for something to happen. And he has to try it, turns around just enough that he can see properly how Kitayama reacts, before he gives a short, quick pull on the chain. Now that the music is dulled by the walls between them and the dance floor there is nothing that stop him from hearing the gasp that Kitayama lets out, not to mention he sees that he's twitching in his tight pants.  
“Are you going to talk?” he asks. He wants to know, _needs_ to know. And Kitayama shakes his head in response.  
_“Use me,”_ he whispers under his breath, and now it's Yamapi who draws a quick, silent breath, because it's exactly what he had been thinking earlier.

So he holds the chain in a tight grip, keeps it stretched as he pulls Kitayama along to the couch, where he sits down and loosens the chain a little. Kitayama settles on the floor like it's where he's meant to be, right next to one of Yamapi's legs, but not close enough that they actually touch. He cowers a little as Yamapi stretches across the space between the couch and the table, but seems to relax a little when he realizes that he's just putting the hat he took off on the table, and then reaches for the bottle and a glass. The second glass is left untouched, while the first is placed by the edge of the table; then Yamapi shakes the bottle a couple times.  
“Look at me,” he tells Kitayama, and he faces upwards at the words, but still doesn't make any eye contact. It doesn't really matter, because that's not what Yamapi wants. Kitayama probably figures it out by the time he starts working on opening the bottle, and he closes his eyes all the way.

-

With no idea what to do, Nikaido and Senga start looking for Yokoo, both of them a new drink in hand. Senga doesn't say anything, but it's easy to tell he's not enjoying himself as much as Nikaido is. There's so much to see, so much strange people to get surprised (and sometimes embarrassed) by, and it's like a world of things Nikaido had thought only existed in movies. But now he's there, in the middle of it, and it's exciting in a way he can't really tell his quiet best friend. He doesn't look like he's hating the situation; but it is obvious that if he'd have known exactly where they were going to begin with, he might have turned them down and stayed home.  
“Come on, Kenpi,” he encourages him as they move away from the main floor, grabs him by the wrist. Senga lets himself be pulled along, but Nikaido doesn't miss out on his bare arm that tenses as he follows.  
“Nika, I feel weird,” he says suddenly, and Nikaido stops in the middle of a step.  
“Are you that drunk?”  
“No, I'm not drunk. It's not-”  
“You did keep your eyes on your drink, right?” Now he sounds downright worried. There's nothing he wants less than Senga high on whatever someone might have put into his drink; or worse, if he'd get used while affected by those drugs.  
“No, it's not like that!” Senga raises his voice a little. If only Nikaido would let him finish his sentence. “I feel like I'm being watched.”  
Nikaido stiffens visibly, but then shoves lightly at Senga's shoulder. “There are no ghosts here. You just want to go home already.”  
“Not in the ghost-way,” he whines. “Like someone is actually watching me.”  
“You can't fool me okay, people here are weird but there are no dead things at this party.” Nikaido looks like he's trying to convince himself rather than Senga. “Let's go find Watta, then dance a little, then we'll go home, okay?” He gets a nod for response and they continue walking, this time on their own. They head in the general direction of where it had seemed like Yokoo had left for, and stretching his neck a little, Nikaido thinks he sees him over the heads of the crowd between them.

Senga spots something in the corner of his eye, turns his head towards it; then stops in surprise, shock, and disbelief. He recognizes two people by the wall; one is Fujigaya, cap not hiding the waves of hair coming out on the sides. But that's not the one that surprises him. No, the other one looks larger, but is smaller, and he knows that haircut so well, even though it's more styled (or is it just messier?) than usual. It's Massu. And Massu is currently pulling Fujigaya in close, seems to speak right in his ear, before they get close enough that it looks like they actually kiss. Then he lets go, and a girl comes over with small glasses that they empty in no time, and then the girl starts pulling Fujigaya up from where he's sitting.

When he realizes Senga isn't close behind, Nikaido is already near Yokoo, enough that he finally notices the girl in his lap. She's dressed in black, with a long, white wig and almost equally pale skin; she must be the kind of person that never goes out, he thinks, and then wonders exactly why he's thinking about that. She must be a lot shorter than Yokoo, as Nikaido had spotted him from further away, but not her, but then again that could be because he was searching for him, he supposes. He's about to walk straight up to them, yet he stops himself halfway there, freezes where he is. What he sees scares him, actually _scares_ him. Yokoo takes a hold on her wrist, lifts it upwards, and he notices that there is something across the nearly white skin, something that should not be there. Something that, when shifted around a bit, starts running downwards, dark and thick, and he knows what it is before he dares think of it. She has been cut, she's bleeding, and now Yokoo is lifting her wrist up so that he can flick his tongue out, lick the blood away from her otherwise flawless skin.

-

Fujigaya swallows down the second shot, and it burns just like the first had done, only now he's definitely not sober from the start. Still trying to get rid of the strong taste of alcohol mixed with sour grapefruit, he gets pulled up on his feet. It feels like the entire room is spinning when he stands, and he's thankful that the girl, whoever she is, is holding him in place because he's sure he would be swaying if she didn't. Then there's a hand on the hem of his pants pulling him forwards, before it comes up to grab the collar of his vest. The way he's tugged forward and down is almost rough, and he's all but falling onto Massu's lap; in fact, he's surprised himself that he lands well enough to quickly settle into a better position, legs on each side of him, but then he figures that Massu had most likely calculated the outcome of his actions. He still feels unbalanced, grabs Massu's bare shoulders for support, then locks his hands in the back of his neck without a thought spared to whether he's supposed to do that or not. There are no complaints, though, instead something fumbles at his chest; tilting his head he can see fingers popping the fourth button on his vest. Massu keeps his eyes on Fujigaya's face, and when they meet, Fujigaya finally realizes how close they are.  
“How are you feeling?” Massu asks in a casual tone, a huge contrast to the situation they're in.  
“Like I'm floating.” It's the first thing he comes to think of, but he thinks it makes sense and if he's not the one floating, then it's the entire room that does, anyway. A hand comes up under his vest, settling at his hip where fingers stroke the smooth skin of his lower belly, just above the line of his pants. It might be the alcohol, but while he wonders exactly when Massu opened the bottom button, his nerves are coming alive, rushing blood downwards in response to the so far few actual intimate touches.

Massu's hands on his skin feel weird, not because of the hands themselves, but because of the general late reactions his body makes; he realizes that he has never had sex while this drunk, then reminds himself that they haven't even kissed. His tongue darts out at the thought, wets his lips in what to him feels like a quick and discrete movement, but Massu catches it easily. With the vest more or less undone it is with no struggle whatsoever that Massu's hand finds Fujigaya's necklace, where it pulls on it harshly enough that he follows, but not enough that the silver chain risks breaking. He knows what Massu wants him to do; he wants it too, and without hesitation he presses their lips together, knocks his cap off in the process. Just the touch of lips sends sparks through his body, arousal happening quicker than it usually would, but he blames his intoxicated state. That when he parts his lips for Massu, he lets out a gasp that would be embarrassing if he wasn't so drunk, is also the alcohol's fault, he decides. But he just can't blame anyone but himself when the hold on his side tightens a little, Massu's hand warm and strong on him, and his hips jerk on their own. He feels a sound against his mouth, rather than hears it, and Massu pulls back just a few centimeters. The necklace goes back to hanging on its own from Fujigaya's neck, and the hand that pulled on it grabs his other hip, the one that's unoccupied.  
“You're hot,” he mumbles, so close that Fujigaya nearly feels him on his lips, or at least so he thinks; his mind could be playing a trick on him. The rest of the room is unclear, blurry, anyway. “So slim. Makes me want to break you.” He pulls Fujigaya down by force, shifts his own hips towards him, and despite the moan he lets slip Fujigaya simultaneously tries to kiss him again. Luckily Massu doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he's pleased by it, especially the way Fujigaya rolls his hips in addition to how he's being pulled at, how he's so drunk that he doesn't even try to hold his sounds back.

-

The bottle pops, a shower of champagne foam shoots out, and Yamapi almost feels proud at his aiming skills because it hits Kitayama right in the face, from where it runs down and drips from his chin. Some of it gets in his hair; but only enough for the ends to stick together, making it look a bit spiky. Then he pours himself a glass, before pushing the bottle to Kitayama's lips. Contact is all it takes for him to part them, and the champagne flows into his mouth faster than he can swallow. It overflows and runs down from his lower lip, down his chin, from where it continues onto his chest. But he keeps on trying to swallow, and Yamapi doesn't stop, doesn't take it away until he can see tears forming in Kitayama's eyes. When it's gone Kitayama draws a deep breath, calms his body down, while the last drops of alcohol drips from his face, until Yamapi wipes his face with a wet towel. Sticky isn't his thing, he thinks as he leans down, presses his own lips to Kitayama's in a way that is more forceful than he has ever kissed anyone before; there is some kind of sound coming from Kitayama, though, and he doesn't doubt that it's positive.

He tastes like expensive champagne and delicious submission; a mix that Yamapi hadn't expected he would enjoy as much as he does. But he pulls away rather quickly, sits back and starts fumbling with his belt, and Kitayama turns his gaze back to the floor. When he gets the belt open and the pants unzipped he squeezes himself through his underwear a couple time, then pulls his cock out, and this time he notices that Kitayama reacts. He's not hard all the way yet, but getting there, and just a hand on Kitayama's shoulder makes him lift his arm to let Yamapi grab it. He places the hand on himself, makes it curl around him and move, and once Kitayama is doing it on his own, he reaches for his glass of champagne. It tastes even better in the glass than from Kitayama's mouth, especially when he's getting physical stimulation at the same time.

He sips on it slowly, pours some more when the glass is half empty; he does feel the effects of the alcohol, but with his years of clubbing it takes a lot for him to get drunk enough that he can't control himself properly. On the floor, Kitayama seems to be eyeing his erection as he strokes it, but there's no change in his general behavior. He stiffens a little when Yamapi nestles a hand in his hair, but follows his silent orders obediently until he's in between his legs instead of beside, and he knows what to do. Yamapi spreads his legs some more, gets comfortable, and takes another sip of champagne as Kitayama starts lapping at his cock.

-

The performance is about two start; the girl Tamamori had bumped into is getting up on the stage, closely followed by the shorter girl, and she winks at both him and Miyata when she notices them in the crowd. They aren't all the way up next to the stage, more like on the third row, but Tamamori is tall and has no problem seeing the ropes that she leaves by her feet. The music switches, and that seems to be her cue; she bends over, shows the audience what she's got under her short skirt, and when she straightens up she has a neatly rolled bunch of rope that she throws over one shoulder before she gets to work. She runs fingertips down the front of the other girl, slower between her breasts, tightly pushed together with a push-up bra that fits her perfectly, and it looks like she's about to kiss her. Tamamori shifts a little, and he's sure Miyata notices, but he ignores him in favor of watching. To his disappointment, the two girls don't kiss. Instead she takes a hold of the rope, pulls a length of it free from the rest, wraps it around the other girl. He has to shift again; he feels his cheeks heating, and that's not the only part of his body that is starting to react. Then hands on his sides, over his clothes, the heat of another body against his back, and he now knows that Miyata is aware of exactly what's going on.  
“You think it's hot?” his voice mumbles against Tamamori's neck, and Tamamori doesn't respond, just nods. Miyata knows it anyway, isn't asking to get confirmation.

On stage the shorter girl is spreading her legs and bending forward a little, getting ropes tied around her thighs. Her arms are already tied together behind her back, and when her thighs are done she gets pulled up by the rope connecting her wrists, only to get turned around again. The rope continues to get tied around her, now on the front, neat knots on her stomach and below her breasts, then between them and up to get finished off with a knot in the back of her neck.  
“Is it the girl on girl action?” Miyata asks him, “or is it the bondage?” He gets pulled back against Miyata, feels that he's not the only one at least slightly interested in what's going on up on the stage. “You wanna fuck her, when she's all tied up like that?” He can't say he's the least surprised at what's coming from Miyata by now. He's an otaku with somewhat questionable interests, he's at least a little drunk, and he knows Tamamori likes the dirty talk.  
“I could do that,” he answers, head turned towards Miyata to make sure he catches it, but he doesn't take his eyes off the performers. The girl he had talked to is now pushing the other one down on the floor; she ends up with her face against the stage floor, ass up in the air, and the first girl settles on her knees behind her. She moves in time with the music, slow thrusts against the immobilized girl, almost as though she's fucking her in the most teasing way possible.  
The way Miyata grinds his hips against Tamamori's ass isn't the slightest subtle. “You'd do her better. She'd be so impatient, if you were inside her.” The further this goes, the more sensitive his nerves get, the better Miyata's hands and lips feel on him. “Or maybe you'd rather get tied up? Would you take it from a girl?”  
“Miyacchi,” he nearly moans, because even though that's not at all what he is thinking about, he can tell that Miyata thinks it would be hot as fuck.  
“Maybe I should tie you up and fuck you instead. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Further away, Nikaido is leaving Yokoo where he is, not even considering interrupting him in whatever twisted thing he is doing. More important is that Senga, who was right behind him, is gone. Senga is gone, lost somewhere in a fetish club, a fetish club he doesn't even want to be at. And that he hasn't followed Nikaido all the way there worries him, because it means something must have happened. He hurries away from the darkest corner of the club, heads for the bar because from there it's possible to get a decent view of the rest of the club. That's where he finds Senga, talking to a girl of his own height (a quick look to the floor and he finds that she's wearing high heels with quite a platform, too). She's looking at him with eyes that remind of Fujigaya's when he sees someone he wants to fuck, ones that know that they will get what they want if they just try hard enough. Because she is pretty, he will admit that, and she looks confident too, like she knows exactly what she's going to do. And he doesn't like it at all.

Senga squirms under her gaze when she looks him up and down more often then necessary. She's talking about relatively normal things, but it shines through easily that she's not looking to be friends. Just the one fingertip down his upper arm tells him what she wants, but it's still weird. It's not like he hasn't been hit on by girls before. This time it's just so different. Because he has never been hit on by a girl and at the same time felt so dominated, and this one is dominating him with body language and nothing else.  
“You usually don't come to places like these, do you?” she smirks, knows she's making him uncomfortable with her questions. “I can tell.” The next move she does is discrete, but she makes sure Senga catches it. She moves one hand to her hip, and makes the handcuffs locked in her faux leather shorts rattle. Senga flinches a little at it, because even though she doesn't say it out loud at first, she is being obvious. But she just laughs, a short laugh that hardly sounds amused. “You're cute. Bet you'd be even cuter cuffed to my bed with your head between my thighs.”

Nikaido knows Senga well enough to see that he isn't even a little bit comfortable with the situation, even from afar. When he finally reaches the bar Senga is about to accept a cocktail that woman bought him, and suddenly the only important thing he knows is keeping him from her. Nothing is the slightest platonic anymore when Nikaido comes up behind Senga, slides his arms around his waist and presses a kiss to his neck. Senga stiffens at first, but relaxes in Nikaido's arms and turns his head enough that if he didn't have a purpose in holding him, Nikaido wouldn't have hesitated a second to kiss him breathless.  
“Baby, let's go home soon?” he asks, loud enough that the girl in front of them lifts an eyebrow.  
“Yeah,” he nods, and something jumps inside Nikaido when Senga tilts his head up to press soft lips against his. The girl gets the hint, rolls her eyes and looks very annoyed, but she doesn't leave just yet.  
“I'd be rougher with him, if I were you.” She speaks directly to Nikaido, not sparing a glance to Senga. “He needs to get rid of some of that innocence. Tie him up and tease him, to begin with.” It's not hard to tell that she's just sharing exactly what she would have loved to do with him, and she glares Nikaido straight in the eyes before she leaves them alone.  
“You won't be rough with me, right?” Senga mumbles, almost too quiet for Nikaido to hear it.  
“Of course not,” he responds on autopilot before he realizes that Senga just agreed to sleeping with him, and there's a heat spreading through his chest that doesn't have a lot to do with plain arousal.

-

“Massu,” Fujigaya pants against his lips, “Massu, the rules...”  
Massu tilts his head, frustratingly composed even though he's the one leading their rhythm. “What about them? We're not having sex yet, are we?” Fujigaya moans at the “yet”, a kind of suppressed one but a moan nevertheless. “It's just you humping me like a drunk little slut, isn't it?”  
“Yes,” he gets out, lips forming the word without him giving them the instruction to. A clumsy hand moves from Massu's shoulder to his firm chest, stays there as Fujigaya lets his head lean against Massu, just next to his neck as he puts some force into his next couple thrusts. He thinks he can hear the pulse beating under Massu's skin; if he had been thinking clearly he would have realized it is the bass from the music. Not that it matters, the hands are still there, one on his hip and one making its way down the back of his pants, and he slides his own down further. It gets stuck in the flowy fabric of Massu's top, but he manages to free it without ruining the piece of clothing. Instead he makes it down to Massu's pants; they're loose, like the ones he's usually wearing, and a belt is holding them in place.  
“No.” He's not teasing now. The hands on him leave his body and Fujigaya finds his wrist held in a strong grip as it's pulled away from between them. His head is pulled up by his hair; he winces a little at it, but more because it's a natural reaction rather than for the fact that it actually hurts; he's too intoxicated for it to be more than a small itch. Massu's eyes are dark, and he doesn't look particularly happy. Fujigaya expects him to give an explanation, wants to know what he did wrong (and be told what he should to do to make up for it), but he gets none of it. He only gets told not to move, and his hand is placed back on Massu's shoulder.

Just seconds after Massu finishes talking to him he has forgotten what he was told, and he tries to press their lips together again. The next thing he knows is that his cheek is stinging; it's not until he feels pain through the blur in his mind that he realizes Massu slapped him.  
“I said _don't move_.” From there on, he does stay still, just focuses on his balance while he studies Massu's face. There's a touch to his stomach, just above the hem of his pants, and his abs jump a little at it. Something else jumps when fingers slide over his pants down between his legs; the fabric is so thin that he feels it almost as if there was just one layer between his erection and Massu's hand. The pressure on it increases, he groans in his throat, but the faint sting remaining on his skin from the hit reminds him to not act on his instincts. He's torturingly slow as he gets Fujigaya's belt open, unzips his jeans, and the gasp that slips at the warm contact of Massu's hand through his underwear just can't be helped. It's a light touch, not at all enough, before Massu wraps his free arm around the small of his back, pulls him even closer. They are so close now that Fujigaya is breathing into Massu's styled hair, hands locked in the back of his neck again because when a hand curls around his cock, skin to skin, he needs something to hold on to. It's almost a little painful to angle his head so that he can see Massu's hand touching him, and there's no way he can stop the thrust his hips give when he realizes that Massu has him all out of his pants, thumbing at the head.

A hand connects to his side with enough force that it must have made a sound; no one hears it though, around them the entire club is too loud. Fujigaya feels it, though, and next he has Massu hissing at him.  
“You move, and they'll notice.” He squeezes his cock tighter than he perhaps should, he knows it, and it has Fujigaya biting his lip as he nods frantically. When he does, he relaxes his hand, starts jerking him up and down, and Fujigaya starts hoping that he's not planning to finish him off right there, with people everywhere and only shadows hiding what they're doing.

-

A light tug on his hair and Kitayama drags his lips along Yamapi's erection. It feels good enough that he sighs in pleasure, although it's not what he wanted; Kitayama knows it as well, but doesn't take it into his mouth just yet.  
“Open your mouth.” Yamapi orders, lips brushing the edge of the glass. He hesitates, doesn't want to be rougher than what Kitayama likes, but then the whipping flashes through his mind, followed by a wave of heat through his body, and he tugs harder. This time Kitayama obediently opens up, lets Yamapi pull him down until he's got the head of his cock sliding in between his lips.

He's in complete control over what Kitayama is doing, guiding his head up and down with a firm grip, and Kitayama lets himself be lead, flicks his tongue against what he can reach. In the glass the champagne is still bubbling slowly, and alcohol has never been as good as when it runs down his throat, still tingling in his mouth, while he's got Kitayama's plush lips stretched around his cock. He leans his head back, empties the tall glass; a low moan turns the transparent surface of it foggy as Kitayama sucks harder on purpose. The fingers in his hair tighten, enough that he stops at the tip, licks at it instead of taking it into his mouth again and Yamapi knows that he's pulling too hard. So he lets go, Kitayama picks up the rhythm again, and Yamapi leans over him towards the table. He finds it surprisingly easy to fill the glass again despite how good he feels and how hot Kitayama looks between his legs, willingly sucking his cock into his mouth, but once he has put the half empty bottle down he has to steady himself.

For a moment he wants to put the glass down too, because he can barely stop his hips from rolling towards Kitayama's mouth when he realizes that he's all down his throat and that it is Kitayama's nose that bumps against his skin as he tries to stay still. So he makes him pull back, and the slide is almost torturous now that his cock is slick with saliva all the way, air cool against the base of it. Kitayama turns his eyes down towards the floor again, and Yamapi makes him face upwards with fingers under his chin.  
“You're good,” he says, knows he has his superior tone on, the one that makes him sound like he's on top of the world, like no one will deny him anything he wants. And he doesn't pull him back again, only looks into his submissive eyes as he tips the glass, lets champagne splash onto the back of his neck, watches it bubble as it continues down his naked back. Kitayama winces at the cool liquid on his whip-bruised skin, but then stays still, stays silent. The champagne takes its time running from the glass, the last drops falling calmly onto him, and when he finally thinks it's enough, Yamapi sets it down on the table and pushes Kitayama backwards. He rises while fumbling with his pants, shoves them down to mid-thigh before he reaches for Kitayama's messy hair again. It's sticky with alcohol in the back, but he honestly doesn't care, with those dark eyes looking up at him like he's all that means anything; like there's nothing Kitayama wants more than to please him.

-

“Massu, Massu, Massu,” Fujigaya whimpers into hair that smells like hairspray and smoke as he struggles both to stay still and not to fall out of his lap. The alcohol is running freely through his veins and he's sure that if he has to rise up, his legs won't hold him up.  
“You wanna come?” Lips against his jawline, and Fujigaya tries to chase them with his own even though they're already gone by the time his brain catches up with his nerves.  
 _“Please,”_ he tries, close to tears because Massu's hand is so tight around him, he's leaking and ready, so close he can almost taste his orgasm, but for some reason, that single word makes him stop entirely. The hand is still there, but it doesn't move; he still moans at the touch when Massu's hold on his cock changes, but his breathing gradually goes back to somewhat normal as he's tucked back into his pants.  
“Stand.” Massu's voice is firm, and Fujigaya obeys as well as he can; luckily Massu is also rising up, right there for him to hold on to instead of falling to the floor. “I'll take you home.” He runs a hand along the crotch of Fujigaya's pants, where his erection is obvious through the tight, glossy pants, and he earns a gasp for it.

Fujigaya thinks he hears Massu speak on the phone, but it's all so blurry, the flashing lights and the people passing by are distracting him, and he remembers his cap just in time for Massu to hang up, and he manages to tell him that it should be somewhere around. He does find it, pushes it onto Fujigaya's head and pulls him close with a strong grip on the back of his neck.  
“There'll be a taxi waiting for us in the underground parking. We're going now.” His arm is guided around Massu's broad shoulders, the hand around his waist on the opposite side is strong, and he's led towards the exit, all while he hopes none of the members see him. And when they finally reach the door, that hope dies entirely.

Because by the door is Senga and Nikaido, putting on their jackets and getting ready to head out, and even though he doesn't look them in the eyes, he hears by the tone in their voices that they're worried about him.  
“Gaya, are you okay?” Senga asks, but quiets at the dark glare Massu sends him, and they let them pass without another word when they realize who is it that walks with him. That doesn't stop them from talking to each other, though, and as if they're in a far distance Fujigaya hears what they're saying.  
“But Nika, he's drunk off his ass! We shouldn't let him, should we?”  
“Did you see his _pants_?” Nikaido hisses. “That was nothing but a full blown hard-on. And Gaya says no if there's something he doesn't want. He wasn't drunk when we came. You think Massu would force him to do things in public?”  
“So you don't care?”  
“I just hope they don't get into a scandal for it.”  
The next voice is much clearer, right next to his head. “Don't worry, guys. I'll take care of him.” The next thing he knows is fresh air going down his lungs, and something jumps inside of him, both in anticipation and slight worry as they get into the elevator; it's empty, Massu speaks dirty to him all the way down, and by the time he's being helped into the taxi he no longer cares what plans Massu has in mind. He'll take anything.

-

Kitayama bites into his lower lip as he removes his t-back on order, hissing as the fabric slides against his erection. A hand on his shoulder and he gets back on his knees, cock bobbing heavily as he moves.  
“No touching.” Yamapi never thought he actually would, but the way he lets his arms fall to his sides in an almost helpless manner makes him glad he said it. It makes it so painfully clear that Kitayama won't do anything unless told to, and Yamapi thinks he might get high on the control he has over him.

Even though he won't look up at him, even though he can't see his eyes, he can tell that Kitayama's glancing at where Yamapi is touching himself, up and down, slowly, right in front of his face.  
"I want to fuck your mouth," he says then, purposely not making it an order because he's not sure what Kitayama can handle and what he can't; all he gets is a nod, though, still without any eye contact. With a hand Yamapi makes him face upwards, thumbs his lower lip until he opens his mouth; instead of pulling him forwards immediately he lets his finger slip inside, and Kitayama flicks his tongue against it. But he doesn't linger, only uses his thumb to open his mouth up further, then angles his cock down and slides it in between his lips.

In the beginning, when he's still moving slowly, Kitayama puts in an effort, swirls his tongue over the head of Yamapi's cock, sucks around it, bobs his head on his own, and the stimulation has him groaning out loud. It's not just the physical pleasure; it looks hot too, the way he's gradually taking it deeper each time he moves down, willing but somehow with a lack of emotion, eyes still cast down and hair disheveled, tips still pointy with the remains of champagne in them. Entirely submitting to Yamapi, he looks as though he's ready to do anything he's told. It takes only the movement of a hand to the side of his head, twisting into his hair towards the back of it, for him to reduce his own actions, the playing of his tongue and the suction on Yamapi's cock. He's waiting. The next time Yamapi's hips move he does it slow, testing, pulling Kitayama towards him as well, and there's no reaction from him even as his lips wrap around the very base of his erection. Not a sound, no reaction, he just relaxes his throat, almost seems to prepare for what's to come.

Then he he pulls back out all the way; probably on reflex, Kitayama licks his swollen lips when he's able to, and the way it looks like he does it unconsciously makes Yamapi twitch in his own hand for a reason he's not sure he could explain even if he wanted to. Yamapi lets his other hand settle on the opposite side of Kitayama's head, holding it still as he pushes back in, slightly faster this time, and he can't help but sneak a glance down towards the floor. Just as he suspected, Kitayama's cock twitches every time he thrusts, every time he forces himself down his throat, and the idea of him being so turned on by it has a wave of heat run through his entire body.

Before he realizes it himself, Yamapi is fucking his mouth like he would fuck Kitayama's ass, rougher than he's ever been with anyone with their lips around his cock, but there's still no sign to hint that Kitayama is getting tired of it. There's only his occasional flicks with the tongue, and the moans, sounds that vibrate through his mouth and if this goes on much longer, Yamapi is positive he won't last. So he stops, pulls out and away, and Kitayama nearly looks like he's about to choke on his breath when his mouth is left empty and he can breathe through it again, instead of through his nose.  
“You liked that, didn't you?” Yamapi says, voice deep and lips nearly moving as he speaks; he feels a faint spark of pleasure inside himself when Kitayama nods and finally turns his eyes up. They're a little watery, but pleading, and suddenly he's not sure if the wetness in them is because of the face-fucking, or that he's just so turned that it's getting frustrating to not be touched. “Slut.” The word slips out before he has had time to think it through; luckily it seems like Kitayama doesn't mind. If anything, the look in his eyes seem to encourage it.

He reaches down for Kitayama's neck, for the chain that's still attached to his collar. There's not a lot of force put into the way he pulls him up, but Kitayama is on his feet, obedient like a well-trained dog, and again he hesitates to look straight into Yamapi's eyes. He pulls again, harsher this time, and Kitayama glances up at him from under the sticky tips of his fringe. With one finger he traces the underside of Kitayama's erection; his breath hitches audibly at finally getting touched, a teasing touch that is barely any stimulation at all. Yamapi smirks as Kitayama does his best to control himself, even though it's clearly written on his face that he wants relief, any kind of it, and soon.  
"Get on the couch," and he pushes him towards it. "On your knees. Hands on the backrest." While Kitayama positions himself Yamapi pulls lube and a condom from the pockets of his pants; he's glad he listened to Massu back when he first found out about the place, because he wouldn't have brought either of it if he hadn't. And he's about to open the small tube once he's got his pants pulled back up but left open, eyes on Kitayama's ass, when his foot hits something on the floor. When he realizes what it is, he can't help but put the tube next to the condom package on the table, and instead pick up the whip that he forgot he even brought along to the VIP room. He suspects Kitayama isn't aware of what's going on behind him, confirms it when he places a palm against one of his buttcheeks and the reaction is one of surprise. He squeezes it gently, enjoys how soft and plump it is under his touch, and he does catch the light moan that escapes Kitayama's throat. But then he lifts the hand with the whip, brings it down with force as he stops playing gentle, and this time, Kitayama actually wails when the leather straps strike his already bruised skin. He goes lower once, twice, and before he knows it there's more than a few red lines across his ass. For a moment Yamapi thinks he overdid it, but a quick look further down and he sees Kitayama's balls drawn tight to him, and the tiniest touch to them has his hips jerking involuntarily.

Kitayama is finally getting riled up enough that his breathing has taken a less normal pace, and he has a hard time staying still when Yamapi leans around him, puts the whip down next to him on the couch. It's almost amusing to Yamapi how he hasn't told him not to move, but he's staying anyway, not throwing a single glance backwards as Yamapi gets the tube open and covers his fingers with its content. The first finger slides inside without much of a warning; he doesn't feel the need to tease anymore, and judging by the state between his legs Kitayama wouldn't be too happy about it either.  
“You want another one?” he asks, to see if Kitayama is so far gone that he might break character and speak. But he doesn't; there's just a nod, a small movement that Yamapi wouldn't have noticed unless he had been watching him for reactions. Knowing he won't get more of a response he pulls the finger out, adds some lube to it and another finger, then pushes both of them back inside Kitayama. This time he hears a moan, low and suppressed, but a moan nonetheless, and it makes his own cock twitch in anticipation. The rhythm he picks up is slow at first, but as soon as the initial resistance is gone he goes faster, a smirk finding its way onto his face as Kitayama's back arches. He doesn't ask about the third finger, just pushes it in along with the others, then keeps up the rougher pace until Kitayama slips an actual whimper. At first he's not sure what kind of whimper it is, if it's impatience or if something hurts, but then he does it again and there's no doubt that it's out of pleasure.

Soon Kitayama is breathing so hard that Yamapi starts suspecting that he might just end up coming without direct stimulation to his cock; he does all he can to keep his noises down, though, and it just triggers Yamapi more. He sneaks his free hand down between Kitayama's legs, traces a finger along the sensitive skin on his inner thigh before he moves on to his erection, finds it hot and heavy. When he reaches the head of it, it's wet with pre-come, and he hears Kitayama's breath hitch at the light touch. He's so sensitive that Yamapi almost feels sorry for him, having been denied pleasure for so long that he's literally dripping; there's a wet spot on the leather couch right underneath him, and when he notices that, he figures enough is enough. He pulls his fingers away, wipes them on one of Kitayama's thighs, then shoves his pants out of the way, pulls his cock out, and reaches for the condom.

He takes his time rolling it on, watches as Kitayama's hole clenches around nothing while he waits, sees his full body shiver when Yamapi groans at his own touch. Then he places a hand on the small of his back; Kitayama automatically readies himself, places his knees a little bit further from each other, and it looks like he holds his breath while Yamapi positions his cock and pushes inside.

He's hot, tight, slippery with lube, and it's so good and _finally_ that Yamapi forgets to listen to the sound Kitayama makes as he exhales when he's filled all the way. The thrusts are smooth and slow when he begins moving, hissing at the pleasure that is as much of a tease to himself as it is to Kitayama, but he wants it to last, at least a little longer. For a moment he plays with the thought of letting him come only to keep fucking him, to just have him take it like he's taken everything else so far. But he doesn't act on it, figures it will be more interesting to see if Kitayama might lose it if he's denied his climax much longer.

He brings his hand up to the back of Kitayama's head, strokes through his hair, makes him jerk at the initial touch, then trails a soft touch down his spine, feels the ridges remaining by the reddish lines left on his skin. Feeling them under his fingertips has him wanting more, wants to hold the whip and hear it strike again, but he pushes the thought away. Instead he puts some force into his thrusts, harder but not a lot faster, reaches for the collar to grab the chain, and he hears Kitayama choke on his breath when he pulls lightly on it.

Letting the chain go slack for a second, Yamapi twists it around his hands, then gives a particularly hard thrust and simultaneously yanks on the chain, forces Kitayama's head up. It makes him groan, deep in his throat and it's the first real sound of pleasure he makes, sending sparks of further arousal along Yamapi's skin. He keeps the chain taut, and now that he has started, Kitayama can't seem to hold his noises in. Still not loud, not the slightest, but along with every creak of the leather couch he's making a small, whiny sound, a little high pitched and breathy.

Then, without letting go of the chain Yamapi pulls out, hears Kitayama's reaction to the suddenness of it. He sits down next to where Kitayama stays on his knees, and yanks on the chain again to make him move. A pat to his lap and Kitayama is on him immediately, straddling him, but then he waits.  
“Ride,” is all Yamapi says; still gets no eye contact, even though they are face to face now. But Kitayama obeys eagerly without any change to his facial expression, except when he sinks down on Yamapi's cock and his eyes fall shut as his lips part for a heavy breath to come through. Yamapi just leans back against the couch when he starts moving; he runs hands up his thighs, feels the strong muscles work under the skin.

Now that he can see Kitayama's face it's much more obvious that he's so ready to come, that he's just waiting to be allowed to. His hips are working on their own, going faster and faster in pace with his breathing, alternating an up and down movement with hard grinding, and every now and then he tightens so much that Yamapi almost thinks Kitayama is going to come like that, without a touch to his cock. But then he opens his eyes under his sweaty bangs, looks Yamapi straight in the eyes. Pleading, yet he's still refusing to beg vocally. Yamapi silently agrees, at last, teases with a finger from base to tip of his cock before he wraps his hand around it, moves it in quick, firm strokes. Just a few of them, while his other hand finds its way to his back where it scratches downwards, over the welts left by the whip, and Kitayama's entire body tenses, stops moving; he just pants as he reaches his climax. His come hits Yamapi's vest as well as the skin not covered by the straps holding it together in the front, stains the black fabric with transparent white. Yamapi lets go of him, moves both of his hands to his ass, holds him up a little as he begins thrusting into him, into the squeeze that's nearly too tight. The sounds that leave Kitayama now are less desperate, less out of breath, ones he just partly unconsciously makes, but they're still hot and Yamapi feels his orgasm closing in on him with every thrust.

Kitayama's hands are cautiously placed on his shoulders in order to keep himself steady against the movements from below, and almost like that simple touch was all Yamapi needed, he finishes inside Kitayama. He has him stay there for a minute, just catches his breath and lets Kitayama do the same before he takes him by the waist, guides him up and back down onto his knees on the floor. Yamapi pulls the condom off, ties it and drops it to the floor, then spreads his legs as far as the pants he's still wearing will allow; Kitayama gets the hint and settles between them.  
“Clean up.” He wouldn't be mad if Kitayama refused, but he wants to try and see how he deals with the command. It doesn't look like he's opposed to it; he brings his hands up and takes Yamapi's still mostly hard cock in his hands, takes it between his lips and sucks, bobbing his head, and when he pulls back there's only a sheet of saliva left covering it. He lets go of it, drops his hands to the seat of the couch and leans further up. Yamapi watches in amusement as he flicks his tongue out against his vest, traces it along the straps, laps up his own come and swallows it down. When it comes down between the straps, moist and warm against his skin, Yamapi feels his abs twitch and tense, can't quite hold back the low groan he makes.

When he's done he sits back, eyes downcast as he waits; Yamapi tucks himself back into his pants as he pulls them up, then leans forwards and ruffles him in the hair.  
“Thanks,” he mumbles, and he's not entirely sure why he saying it; he just feels like he should. As he had suspected he gets no answer, not any vocal answer, at least. He gets a barely noticeable bow, more like a nod with his head, then a glance up at his face, and he thinks he can see in his eyes that Kitayama is thankful too. “Good enough?” he continues, because really, he has no idea if what he did was what Kitayama had been looking for.  
A moment of silence. “Yeah.” Kitayama is speaking, voice almost breaking a little, unused except for moans and a whisper.

It's as if the spell is gone; Kitayama stretches his arms, winces a little when the skin on his bruised back stretches as well, but it doesn't seem like he dislikes it.  
“It's late,” he says, an obvious statement, but Yamapi gets the hint, rises up from the couch, gets himself in order, puts his hat back on. Then he gives a pointed look at Kitayama, who's still on the floor, indirectly makes him continue. “I'll clean up and then get going. You go.” He makes it clear that there's nothing left for Yamapi to do, no reason for him to stay; that it's just sex and nothing else.  
“See you at work then, maybe.” As he speaks Yamapi watches Kitayama remove the collar from around his neck, listens to the rattle of the chain when it comes down on the floor.  
“Yeah. Thank you,” he adds, a little lower, and part of Yamapi wants to step back up closer, ruffle him in the hair like he had done before, but he stops himself, saves it for another time.


End file.
